Spore (29 page)

“Dad. Where’s my dad?” Hailey whimpered.

“Soon. You’ll see him soon.” The steps above faltered and she heard a heavy thump, like he’d fallen again. But he’d be out of the hall in a step or two, and only eight, maybe ten steps more to the top of the stairs.

“The car’s across the street to the left,” she said, finally freeing Hailey’s wrists. “When you get out of here, run out the front door to it, hide in the back seat, and lock yourself in. You hear me? You don’t let anyone open the doors but your dad.”

“’Kay. I can do that.” Hailey fumbled as she helped Mindy with her ankle binds.

Steps, surer but still stumbling, reached the kitchen.

Time’s up. Todd, where are you?

Mindy held the child’s face in her hands. “Do not look back. No matter what you hear, what you see, you do not worry about me. I don’t care what else happens, as soon as you hear me fighting him, you
run
.” Then she kissed Hailey’s gas-slick forehead and eased out from behind the water heater.

“You’re a naughty, naughty girl, Minders,” the cop said from the top of the stairs. “My little get out of debt free card.”

“Where is she, you shit?” Mindy screeched as she flung the hamper into the game room. She followed it, knocking stuff aside, making noise, moving away from the stairs toward the bedroom side of the house, leading his attention away from the trapped child. “Where’d you hide her?”

She heard him skid-stumble down the stairs.
Almost here. Come on, asshole. Come on.
“There she is! Oh my God, Hailey! What have they done to you?” she shrieked, rushing for the basement bathroom to rip back the shower curtain.

The cop, stumbling and dutiful, followed her. “You and I are going to have us a little interrogation. Teach you obedience.”

The bathroom door swung inward and Mindy crouched in the shower, ready to pounce. She saw his shadow reach forward, saw his movement in the gap between the door and the jamb, saw the barrel of a gun peek around the door.

Oh, crap,
Mindy thought,
I’m toast,
but she lunged forward anyway, tackling the door. The gun went off, the bullet shattering the medicine cabinet and ricocheting off a tile near Mindy’s head and the shower surround before embedding in the ceiling.

The cop fell to his knees, grunting, gun still clenched in his hand as he turned it toward her.

Mindy clambered over him, a second shot whizzing past her to hit a furnace pipe well ahead. Her foot slammed into his gut as she fled and she heard a pained whoof of air, but he shifted his legs, tripping her. She fell, once again, sprawling to the floor even as Hailey’s light steps sprinted up the stairs and across to the living room.

She’s all right!
Mindy thought, struggling to regain her footing, but the cop grabbed her ankle and dragged her toward him.

“Gotcha,” he snarled, standing while holding her leg. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Watch me.
Mindy rolled to her back and kicked out with her free leg, intending to slam her heel into his balls, but he shifted and flipped her onto her belly again.

He planted a heavy foot between her shoulder blades and, despite her struggles, she was pinned. He leaned forward, weight on the one crushing foot, and she felt the warm barrel of the gun press against the back of her head.

“Don’t move or, money or not, I’ll blow off your damned spore head,” he said, rummaging in her pockets for the keychain, which he tossed forward into the gas-soaked clothing.

He shifted again and she heard the beepty boop of a cell phone. “Got her. She’s become real compliant with a pistol pointed at the back of her skull.” He paused. “Yep. Face down on the floor. I’ll have her at the drop off on time.”

She heard another soft boop as he ended the call.

He knelt, knee replacing the heavy foot, and he put the gun away long enough to cuff her hands behind her and drag her to her feet. Mindy heard a creak from the kitchen—Todd!—and she turned to spit in the cop’s face, hoping to distract him from the noise.

“Bitch,” he snapped before backhanding her across the face. “You brought this on yourself.”

She fell to her knees and licked the corner of her mouth, tasting blood. Above her, the floor creaked again. “Big man, beating up a bound woman half his size,” she muttered, forcing herself to turn on her knees and glare at him through the mussed tangle of her bangs. “Can’t get it up unless you knock the crap out of a girl first, can you?”

His eyes narrowed and he hit her again, this time with the side of the gun. “Shut up.”

Hit a nerve there, didn’t I? God, you’re pathetic.
She grinned and spoke louder, hoping to lead Todd to them. “Do all your talking with a gun, don’tcha, copper? Bang, bang! Just like the old gangster movies!” Then she started laughing.

“I said shut. Up.” He grabbed her by the throat and dragged her to her feet.

Mindy glurgled, unable to fight back, unable to breathe. She tried to knee him in the groin but he dodged it.

“You need to learn a little respect,” he snarled in her face before slapping her with the gun again. “Spore bitch. Nasty fungaloid piece of ass. If you weren’t worth so much money I’d—“

“Let her go, Hendrix,” Todd said. “Drop the gun and put your hands behind your head.”

Mindy couldn’t see anything, her vision had become hazy, but she managed to kick Hendrix in the leg.

He yelped and stumbled back a single step. His gun went off—a vicious bee stung her left bicep—and, behind her, Todd grunted.

She heard another shot, then another as she fell, once again face-down on the floor. Hendrix collapsed on her, shifting to raise his gun one more time, but a final shot echoed through the basement and he fell backwards, unmoving, his leg across her forearms and lower back.

Todd limped to her, an injured bull in a too-tight hallway. “Mindy! God, Mindy!”

“I’m okay,” she mumbled, trying to push Hendrix’s weight off her and sit, actions apparently impossible with bound hands. “Think I got shot, though.” She rolled and her shot bicep became smeared with gasoline and grit. “Ow, crap! That stings!”

She felt Todd’s hands on her, lifting her, pulling her out from the stink and the dead weight of Hendrix.

“Let me see,” he insisted, examining her arm. “You’ll need stitches, but you’ll live.” He uncuffed her hands then lifted her chin to scrutinize her battered face. “Where’s Hailey?”

“You didn’t see her?”

“No. I haven’t had a chance to look for her.” He limped away, holding his leg as if it barely supported his weight. “Hailey!!”

Mindy grabbed his hand. “She’s outside. In the car. She got away.”

He turned, gaping, and grasped her shoulders. “She’s what?”

“I sent her to the car.” Mindy swallowed and felt a clench of queasiness. The left leg of his jeans had turned black and glossy with blood. “Your thigh. You’ve been—“

“Shot. I know. Third time.” Grinning, he draped an arm over her shoulders. “They lie. You never get used to it. Hurts like a bitch.”

She helped him up the stairs and outside, but he staggered to the car on his own power, calling his daughter’s name.

Hailey peeked up from the back seat and burst into a wide and bawling grin. She scrambled from the car and ran into his arms as he stumbled and fell to his knees in the middle of the road. They held each other, crying and kissing their relief.

Grasping her bleeding bicep, Mindy limped toward the curb, intending to sit and let the little family have their private moment while she caught her breath.

“Oh no you don’t. Get back here.” Todd stretched to grasp the hand of her injured arm and he pulled her to them, down to the road and into their embrace.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The living room looked all right, but the house reeked of spore funk, heavy and pungent. Sean paused to listen—
is Paul upstairs? In the basement?
—but heard nothing but the soft whirr of the refrigerator.
Crap.

Knowing his steps would echo downstairs, he took a breath and strode in as if he owned the place and belonged there. Which he did. It still was his house whether Paul liked it or not and he’d be damned if he’d let his uncle hurt any more kids. He released a loud and facetious yawn despite his heart slamming and his muscles thrumming like every fiber had been electrified.

Is this fear? Adrenaline? Something else?
Sean thought as he rounded the corner into the kitchen and took the few steps to the fridge. He opened the freezer and reached in.

“Looking for something?” Paul leaned against the doorjamb leading to Sean and Mare’s bedroom. He was covered with dirt and mud, stunk of spore, and the awful tattoo seemed to glow in the light spilling from the bedroom.

“Popsicle,” Sean said, heart slamming in his ears. “Maybe an ice cream bar. Something cold. Too damn hot out there.” He made himself look away from Paul and grab the box of diet fudge bars. He closed his eyes for a moment, relieved at his luck.
Still heavy. Just shoot the bastard and let the cops sort it out.

He glanced over the door at Paul as he tipped the box in his hand and let the gun slide out, plastic baggie and all, while keeping it hidden in the freezer. “Want one?”

“Nah. Maybe later,” Paul said, returning to the bedroom.

Sean unbagged and checked the gun. Still loaded.
Holy freaking crap, it’s cold!

Trying to settle himself, Sean gripped the icy gun and took a deep breath. “Oh, by the way, what the holy hell are you doing in my bedroom?”

“Ain’t yours, kiddo,” Paul said from beyond the door. “I built this fucking room. Built it special just for me. So what do you do? Wait ‘til I’m gone and change the fucking locks, then you nail the goddamn window shut? Go fuck yourself, Seanny, and go back to your doodles. It’s my place.”

“Bullshit. I’ve told you before it’s
my
house.” Gun clasped in both hands, Sean pushed the door open with his foot.

Their bed had been flipped over to stand against the south wall along with both dressers and a slumping roll of threadbare carpet. All of their knick knacks and personal clutter had been dashed aside and strewn about, leaving broken bits and loose hair ties scattered on what remained of the floor, which wasn’t much.

Four large, rectangular panels of sub-floor had been removed, exposing the muddy cellar beneath the room. One floor panel stood in the mud to lean between joists near the bathroom door, cross-bars running horizontal like a ladder, while the rest lay against the bedroom wall beside the window.

A deep hole had been dug in each corner of the muddy cellar floor and all had seeped full of ground water. Spore slime quivered in three of the holes, one foaming and about to melt away, another so small it barely rippled the water.

“Figured a house-stealing thief like you’d bring the gun,” Paul said, coming around the open door with Mare’s aluminum softball bat in his hands. He swung, low and fast.

Sean tried to turn and leap back, but the bat hit him hard across the side of the hip. He crumpled, yelping in pain, and tried to shoot Paul. He missed and hit the mattress instead.

“Cowardly fuck! We’re done with this shit,” Paul said, swinging downward.

Fuck!
Sean covered his head with his hands, but the bat hit him across the middle of his back and he fell flat and sprawling to the floor. The gun skittered away.

Sean’s diaphragm seized, fighting to draw in air, and he was helpless to resist as Paul grasped him by the scruff of the collar and threw him into the muddy pit.

While Sean lay there in pain and unable to breathe, Paul jumped down with the gun in his hand. “I wondered where your crazy bitch hid it,” he said, opening the cylinder. “Freezer? I didn’t expect that.” He shook out the bullets and flung them, then the gun, into the kitchen and knelt in front of Sean.

“Guns are cheating.” Paul grabbed Sean by the hair and wrenched his head up. “What we have…” he said, dragging a finger down Sean’s cheek. “What we’re gonna do… It’s too personal for that.”

Sean tried to tell his uncle to fuck himself, but with no air yet coming in or out of his lungs, he could only manage a pained squeak.

“Worthless cream-puff,” Paul said. Shoving Sean aside, he crouched to stroke the largest wad of slime, toying with bubbles filtering up through his fingers. “If you came here looking for that little neighbor girl, you’re too late. She’s buried over there beneath the dressers,” he said, shrugging toward that side of the pit. “I never liked the little ones. They give up too quick. Guess she’ll never get all her quarters, will she?”

Oh, Steffie!
Sean managed to draw in a slip of a breath, then another. He rolled to his side and coughed out, “You’re a sick fuck,” as his lungs loosened again.

“You should know, kiddo.” The slime bubbled from several places and had begun to melt away. It flexed, the life inside moving and pushing out with an elbow or heel. “C’mon, baby,” Paul cooed. “Papa’s got a present for you.”

Sean got to his hands and knees despite the pain in his left hip and back. “Get away from that spore.”

Spore froth spewed over Paul’s hand as he stroked the quivering mass. “Oh shut your pie hole and wait your turn. Been waiting days for this little treat to come back to me. We still have so much left to do, don’t we, Princess?”

Get up, Sean, get UP!
He managed to get one foot forward, and he sagged, still struggling to breathe smoothly. “Get away from her.”

A swirl of slime faded away, then another, and Paul grinned. “Princess and I had such fun; now we get to do it all again while Sean watches us! It’s gonna be sweet!”

You twisted monster.
Sean managed to get to his feet, but sagged, his left leg not totally working.

More slime twirled then faded away, and Sean saw a child’s hand reach out of the water then slip beneath the surface again. Paul chuckled and stood to unzip his jeans, his back to Sean.

No! I can save this one. Have to save this one.
Sean staggered forward, both hands clasped together, and he swung, using body momentum to slam the side of Paul’s head with his fists.

The blow sent Paul reeling toward the far corner. Sean gasped for breath and fell to his knees beside the hole.

Most of the goop had melted and a little girl, perhaps six or seven years old and covered with spore-slime, burst out of the water, gasping. She blinked at Sean with her odd purple eyes, still mindless and gone.

“C’mon,” Sean said. “We have to go!”

“My house, my spore-kid,” Paul snarled. He grabbed Sean by the hair and punched him in the face, bloodying his nose. “Mine,” he said, punching again. “Get me, Seanny? I don’t care how many times I have to kill you, this house, these kids, are
mine
! You wait your fucking turn!”

Sean squawked and swung blindly, striking Paul’s throat. Paul cursed and his grip slipped away, leaving Sean to crawl back to the girl while blood ran freely from his nose, nearly choking him.

Paul chuckled and reached for the child. “Now, now, Princess, come to Papa. We have things to do.”

The girl’s head turned, perhaps drawn by the sound, and she babbled, “Aaah bada bah!”

“Stay away from her, you sick freak!” Sean shoved himself between Paul and the little girl and batted Paul’s hands away. He coughed at the cloying musty stink of spore slime as it soaked his jeans, but he pressed himself backward, nudging the spore child out of the hole. He felt her grasp at his shirt, heard her cry out in mindless panic and fear as she crawled into the shadows beyond the makeshift ladder, but she was safe. For the moment, at least. Paul loomed, glowering and blocking any retreat to the kitchen and the gun.

Sean tried to control his rising panic even as he reached back to locate the girl.
There’s no way I can get both of us past him. We’re trapped. What the hell do I do?

Paul rubbed his throat as he contemplated his nephew. “Thought you were feisty the first time, Sean. You got away from me, almost escaped.” He spat blood onto the churned up dirt. “No one ever managed that before.”

Sean kept his mouth closed, trying to hide his surprised fear.
The first time? So Paul DID hurt me. The cops must have gotten the dates wrong!
“What do you mean I almost escaped? I did get away from you, you sick fuck.”

“You always were a tricky bastard, weren’t you, Sean? A crafty little prick who took away my chance to fuck away that thing’s first breath.” Paul knelt before Sean, eye to eye, leaving Sean paralyzed with fear. “It’s okay, it’s all right,” he soothed, smoothing Sean’s hair. “I took your last breath back then. How about I take it again? Maybe you won’t come back this time and steal my shit.”

Come back? How the fuck do you know I die in my dreams?
The floor panel serving as a ladder dug into his back, promising a quick escape to the bathroom if he’d only abandon the girl. His heart slammed and his hands grasped for the ladder, his entire body, his soul, demanding he flee to relative safety, but, as he shifted upward, ready to bolt, he remembered the girl.
Shit! Without me she’ll be helpless. Paul’ll rape her, maim her…kill her. And it’ll be all my fault.

He swallowed, panting as he struggled to control his panic.
I can’t, I can’t leave her. I can’t let her die because of my fucking fears!

Growling, he took a breath and lunged, turning his head to bite Paul’s forearm.

Paul screeched and tried to yank his arm away, but Sean grabbed him and held on, sinking his teeth deeper into his uncle’s flesh despite Paul beating him about the head with his free hand.

Paul managed to jerk away from Sean’s bite and he fell, ass first, into the girl’s sporing pit, good hand clamped on his forearm and his legs flailing for purchase while Sean tried to grab the girl.

“I killed you once, you fucking prick!” Paul snarled. “Fucking killed you and fed you to Lulu.”

Sean’s vision swam as the girl scuttled away from him and deeper into the darkened corner.
Lulu, the same dog the Minotaur said.
Sean turned, hands clenching.
Oh, crap, oh hell. My nightmares can’t really be memories.

Paul grunted and climbed out of the hole. “Grown or not, I’m gonna teach you a fucking lesson, just like I did twenty years ago. Gonna bust you up and I’ll fuck you until I’m tired of your screams, then gut you and watch you die. Only this time I’m gonna burn your fucking corpse after I’m done playing with it.”

“Ahmba dagah?” the child said, perhaps drawn by Paul’s voice.

He’s too strong, too fast. I need a weapon. Something to even the odds.
Sean stayed between Paul and the girl while trying not to stare at Mare’s bat, glimmering on the dirt behind Paul. “You never killed me. I’m obviously still here.”

“Only because your fussy-bitch mama worked at that cloning lab. Bet she grew you back in a petri dish.”

Sean swallowed.
Cloning?
“You’re lying.”

Paul pointed to a swath of ground under the dressers. “No. No lie. I buried what was left of you right over there.”

Sean shook his head.
I’m a…clone? A spore? It’s not possible! Mom, what did you do?

Paul laughed and dragged himself upright. “You really didn’t know that, did you? And here I thought you were all horny for the spores and their stupid rights because you’re one yourself.”

Still blocking the girl, Sean managed to stand despite his throbbing hip. “No. I had a childhood. I have memories.”

“Memories don’t mean shit. I really did kill you,” Paul said. “God, you were a pain in the ass, always getting yourself untied and trying to escape, even without your feet. You almost did it once. Hid in a ditch full of dead leaves. Tricky little shit.”

Mind reeling, Sean struggled to breathe.
My dreams? They really happened?

Paul sidled closer. “My stupid brother knew how I felt about children. He never let me hang out with you, even when you were in diapers. Was sad, really. You and I had such fun playing when we were finally alone together. Now with this spore-stuff, we can do it over and over and over!”

We? Oh, hell, Todd said the killings continued after you died. Goddammit, you had partners and they’re still around!?

Paul leapt, hands encircling Sean’s throat. He flung Sean to the ground and dragged him toward the nearest hole. “Gonna make sure you don’t come back this time!”

Sean beat him with his fists, but Paul didn’t let go, he just continued to crush Sean’s throat, then shoved his head under water, darkening his vision to a fine, bright point. Sean bucked and kicked, desperate, but Paul had leverage.
Too strong, he’s just too strong!

Trachea creaking beneath Paul’s grip, Sean’s head swam with memories: the stink of Minotaur and dead leaves, hazy scrapes and bloody, child-sized handprints on cinderblock walls.

He managed to shove Paul off with his feet and roll aside, coughing up slimy water, but Paul returned. Sean cried out as Paul pummeled his face and throat, gouged his face, and kicked his ribs and back. He tried to crawl away, but he was weak. Hurt. Exhausted.

Panting, Paul grabbed Sean by the shoulder and flung him far away from the whimpering girl. Sean’s fingers skittered over something cold. Mare’s bat. He grasped it and dragged it to him.

“Fuck you. I’m not dead yet,” he said, blinking past the blood in his eyes, even as he tried, and failed, to get his feet beneath him. His head swam and his vision was a dark flickering sea of red. One blink Paul grinned at him, the next the Minotaur. The beast took a step toward him, his breath a stinking hiss, and Sean pulled back to swing the bat at its great and terrible head. It laughed at him in dark, jolly glee.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Sean swung, but the Minotaur dodged, snarling. Then it was Paul again, wrenching the bat from Sean’s hand and flinging it away. He beat Sean across the face with his fists, bringing dazzling pain to his cheekbone, and Sean fell to his side, gasping through the blood and pain. “Run. Please,” he said to the little girl, her eyes glittering in the shadows beyond the ladder, but she was too far away, and he was too weak.